


my funny friend and me

by Did



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Pastfic, former street rat meets royal brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 17:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16897281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Did/pseuds/Did
Summary: Apprentice Zul meets the young prince.





	my funny friend and me

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to linnai for her headcanon idea of zul being an orphan who was plucked from obscurity! and even more thanks to all the zul fools who motivate me to keep writing this nonsense

The stone floors of the palace are much nicer than the pavement in the harbor district.

The bricks are neat and even. There are no missing pieces, or odd bumps to trip you, or sharp broken edges to cut your feet. They even smell nicer, if you lean in close; like clean stone and palm soap, not fish oil and saurid droppings.

They are very nice floors, and Zul is becoming very, very familiar with them. He has done nothing but scrub them since he arrived here last week.

Zul is still not sure why he is scrubbing the floors. "To help you learn focus and humility", the senior priest had said. Zul isn't sure what "humility" is. When he asked one of the other acolytes, the older child confidently told him it means the air is wet.

Zul does not know what that has to do with scrubbing floors. The air is always wet in Zuldazar.

Not all of the apprentices scrub floors all day, Zul knows. Some of them read scrolls, or light incense, or fetch and carry for the older priests. When Zul asked if he could take a break from scrubbing and do one of those other things instead, one of the priests had cuffed him over the head and told him to stop being ungrateful.

Zul does not ask questions anymore. Zul scrubs floors, and keeps his mouth shut, and wishes very quietly that things would go back to the way they were before.

Before the priests in golden armor came down to round up all the stray children in the docks, before the spirit test, before the shouting and pointing and adults saying things like _seer, prodigy, most promising in generations, never seen anything like it-_

Zul scrubs floors.

Zul is supposed to be here, he reminds himself. Zul is here to learn from Prophet Tal, who is very wise and important. It does not matter that he has never _met_ Prophet Tal, nor even heard of him before the golden priests came to take him and the other children away. Prophet Tal must be very busy doing whatever it is that royal prophets do, Zul reasons. Maybe he will come talk to Zul later.

Or maybe he just forgot.

Zul scrubs floors.

Zul is supposed to be here. He repeats the thought like a mantra. It does not matter that the food is strange and his new clothes are uncomfortable and the other apprentices are always too busy to talk to him. Zul is here because of _destiny,_ and destiny is more important than any of those things.

Zul scrubs floors.

It does not matter that Zul's knees ache, or that his hands always feel dry and sticky from the soap, or that the other children shake him and shush him when he wakes screaming from nightmares like he always does. It does not matter that he misses his well-worn tunic, or his hidden nest of palm leaves and sailcloth in the alley, or the taste of Jimo's don't-ask soup-

"You there! Boy!"

Zul is startled from his thoughts by a demanding voice. He looks up.

Zul does not recognize the young troll standing in front of him with his hands on his hips. He thinks it's a bit rich to be addressed as _boy_ by a child who appears to be only a few years older than him, but it is probably not wise to say so to someone wearing so much gold.

Zul is not sure what he should do. There are a lot of important people in the palace, and Zul is not supposed to talk to any of them. He is not entirely sure how he is supposed to tell the important people from the regular people; almost everyone here wears a lot of gold, so he supposes they must all be important. (Except for the apprentices, of course.)

This is the first time Zul has seen so much gold on someone so young, though. This boy must be very high caste. Perhaps he is the son of a merchant, or even a warrior.

The boy does not seem to want to wait for an answer. "Are you one of the seers?" he says, leaning in close to Zul with an appraising squint. Zul leans back.

Zul hesitates, then nods. He wonders if he should stand up and bow. It seems safer to stay kneeling on the floor. Kneeling is more respectful than bowing, isn't it?

"Good! None of the other ones will talk to me." The boy immediately drops to a sit in front of Zul, heedless of the way the soapy damp of the stone floor starts seeping into his expensive-looking loincloth. "You can see the future, yes?"

Zul shrugs and averts his eyes. Something about the intensity of the boy’s stare is making him nervous. Zul has never liked bossy people.

"Excellent! I want you to tell me mine." the boy announces. He speaks in the tone of a troll accustomed to getting his way. "First, I want to know when War Master Jol will stop making me use practice sticks and let me play with the _real_ swords. And tell me when my father will let me have my own raptor! Ooh, and after that -”

Zul bites his lip. He has never tried to make himself have a nightmare - or a _vision,_ as the priests call it - on purpose. Why would he, when he already has them nearly every night whether he wants them or not? But he is also fairly certain that he shouldn't refuse a direct order from a troll wearing that much gold.

Or a long, _long_ list of orders, as the case seems to be.

“- and tell me when I get to have bodyguards of my own! Ones who answer to _me_ , not my father!” the boy finishes at least. He is looking at Zul expectantly. Zul is starting to suspect that he is in over his head.

Well. Zul supposes he can try. He straightens up and takes a deep breath, forcing himself to meet the boy’s imperious gaze. He focuses as hard as he can and tries to think…forward.

A long moment passes. The boy purses his lips impatiently. _“Well?”_

Zul feels his ears start to turn red.

Fine. Zul will try _harder._ He learns forward until their noses nearly touch, scrunching his eyes shut, gritting his teeth and reaching with all his might for _something -_

And then the world shatters around him.

_Darkness-_

_The sound of shouting in a foreign tongue-_

_A rain of toads-_

_The stamp of many boots, the clash of metal-_

_White spirit-light-_

_Blackened flesh shot through with veins of searing blue-_

_A grinning skull-_

_A troll, mangled and weeping-_

_My daughter, I am so sorry, forgive me, please forgive me-_

Zul awakes with a gasp. He is on his back; he does not remember falling over. The boy clad in gold is leaning over him with a look of alarm.

“Hey! I told you to look at the future, not pass out and flail on the floor!”

Zul is a young troll who has just had a very, very bad shock after a very, very long week. There is only one logical thing for him to do at this moment.

He bursts into tears.

The other boy’s expression shifts rapidly from alarm to panic. “Stop that! What is wrong with you?!” he exclaims, making a motion as though he is about to put his hand over Zul’s mouth.

Zul bites him and wails louder. The boy recoils and says a word that Zul thinks he probably isn’t allowed to say.

“Ah! How dare you! I could have you whipped for that, you know!” the boy grouses, jamming his bloodied thumb into his mouth.

“I- don’t- _care!”_ Zul’s voice is high and ragged. The space between each word turns into a gasp; he is having a hard time getting enough air into his lungs. He snorts back a headful of phlegm and tries again. “Just- just go away and leave me to _die!”_

“What are you talking about?! You are not going to die because you fell on the ground!” The boy jumps to his feet, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Now I see why they do not want me to talk to the seers - it is because you are all _crazy!”_

Zul glares hard at the accusatory finger being pointed in his direction and seriously considers biting him again.

Then a voice echoes through the hall. Both of them freeze.

_“What is that racket?!”_

Zul recognizes the voice of one of the senior priests. He can hear bare feet padding in their direction. It won’t be long before the priest turns the corner at the end of the hall and spots them.

Oh, Zul is going to be in _trouble._

The other boy seems to be thinking along the same lines. “Get up, get up!” he hisses, grabbing Zul’s hand and yanking him roughly to his feet. Zul is too surprised to resist. “We need to go!”

 _“We_ need to go?” says Zul incredulously, digging in his heels as the boy tries to drag him down the hall. “Wh- why would I go anywhere with you? I hate you!”

“You are not allowed to hate me.” Zul has never heard a troll say something so bizarre in such a tone of confidence. “If I leave you, you will tell on me to save your own skin, so I must bring you with me. And if you do not do what I say I will tell my father you bit me and he will feed you to the devilsaurs. _So there.”_

He makes a compelling argument.

So that is how Zul, scowling and sniffling, ends up being dragged the length of the palace like a saurid on a leash, struggling to keep up with the reckless pace set by an odd, bossy stranger he does not like very much at all. The boy navigates the palace like an expert, flitting through hidden passages and ducking into disused storerooms, dodging servants and guard patrols as though he knows by heart the schedules of every member of palace staff. Zul would be impressed if he wasn’t so miserable.

Eventually they arrive in _the fanciest bedroom Zul has ever seen in his life._ The rest of the palace pales in comparison; even the walls and floor of this chamber appear to be gold-plated. (Zul wonders if that makes them easier to scrub.) There are shelves upon shelves piled messily with toys and trinkets of every description, and those that do not fit on the shelves lay scattered across the floor. Zul stumbles over a pile of solid gold building blocks, too awestruck watch his footing.

It is enough to make Zul, who has never owned anything in his life besides the clothes on his back and the food in his belly, twitch with envy. He only stops gawking when the boy dumps him unceremoniously onto a pile of cushions and shoves a large stuffed raptor into his arms.

"Here." he says grandly. "Take this. I am too old for baby toys anyway."

"I am not a baby." huffs Zul, clutching the raptor possessively against his chest. It feels like it is sewn from real skin, but something finer and softer than raptor-hide; saurid, perhaps. It has a pair of polished turquoise marbles for eyes.

"You whine like one." the boy sniffs in the tone of a troll having the final word on a subject. "Stay here. I will be right back."

Zul has no choice but to obey. He snuffles quietly to himself, trying to surreptitiously wipe the tears and snot from his face with the back of his hand. He wonders how many things he could steal from this room without the boy noticing.

The boy soon returns with a golden platter piled high with bits of candied mango. Zul's eyes widen. The sugar-crusted orange cubes sparkle like gems in the torchlight. The boy plops down next to Zul, platter still in hand, and then grabs a careless handful of them and stuffs them into his mouth.

"I am glad you are here to help me eat them." he says. Sugar granules rain down from his mouth and pepper his lap. "The servants always make too many."

"What do you do with the leftover ones?" says Zul in a hushed voice, feeling a little horrified.

"Sometimes I feed them to the saurids."

Zul immediately begins stuffing his pockets with them.

"Ugh, don't do that. You're going to get all sticky."

The boy reaches to grab Zul’s wrist. Zul snarls shrilly at him, then yelps when the boy smacks him over the head.

"There is no need to _screech!_ Were you raised in a beast pen?"

The boy leans over, digging through a nearby pile of rich person things, and makes a triumphant sound when he pulls out an intricately embroidered silk handkerchief. It is a beautiful piece of work; some troll probably spent weeks working on the details. He chucks it at Zul like it’s a crumpled up piece of parchment.

"Here. Wrap them in this, little animal."

Zul narrows his eyes suspiciously. Zul has plenty of experience with bullies; he has less experience with trolls beating him up with one hand and showering him with gifts from the other. He hastily stuffs the handkerchief as full as it will go and ties off the top.

“I am not little. You are just too tall for your age.” Zul grumbles as he carefully tucks his parcel into his tunic. “And I am too allowed to hate you, even if you are rich.”

The boy laughs like Zul just said something funny. Zul is too busy shoveling the remaining mango into his mouth to care. The boy looks both impressed and disgusted.

"You are allowed to chew, you know." he says, casually scooping up another fistful of mango. Zul bets he has never been hungry a single day in his life. "Do they not feed you apprentices?”

"I guess." mumbles Zul through a mouthful of of mango, thinking of the rations of porridge and salt fish served to the acolytes each day. "It’s just...it’s not...I don't really like it."

“What _do_ you like, then? Aside from swallowing two pounds of mango whole like a snake.”

Zul hesitates, then looks down. "I like don't-ask soup." he says in a small voice.

The boy gives Zul a skeptical look. "What is in it?"

"You're not supposed to ask." Zul explains slowly, as though he is speaking to a simpleton. "If you bring Jimo a rat or a saurid he'll give you a bowl for free."

"What does he do with them?" The boy’s nose wrinkles with confusion. A second later, his eyes widen. "Oh."

"Mhmm."

Now his whole face is scrunched up; he looks like he doesn’t know whether he wants to grin or cringe. His expression reminds Zul of the time he saw some children down at the docks daring each other to poke a dead body with a stick.

"The customs of peasants are very strange. Do all of you eat rats?"

"I am not a peasant." says Zul indignantly. Now does not seem to be the right moment to admit that he has never once turned his nose up at free meat, regardless of the source. "When I grow up I will be a powerful priest. Perhaps I will even outrank you!"

The boy sniggers into his hand, shaking his head as though Zul has just said the silliest thing he's ever heard. Zul puffs his cheeks with annoyance.

"Why do you laugh? The Zanchuli priests are very important, you know. Only the royal family sits higher than them.”

The boy nods slowly, his shoulders still shaking with laughter. "That is indeed true."

Zul gives him the evil eye, then leans over and scrapes the remaining crust of sugar from the empty platter with his fingernails. He licks his hand clean, grimacing slightly. His skin still tastes a little soapy.

“So.” he says, peering up over the head of the stuffed raptor still sitting on his lap. "What else do you have?"

It turns out that getting hauled around by the wrist isn't so bad when you have a belly full of mango and a soft, squishy raptor squeezed under one arm. Zul trails along quietly while the boy drags him on a full tour of his rooms, careful not to trip over any more toys. There’s a lot to look at; the sleeping area alone is at least three times as large as the fishermen's huts Zul is familiar with, and every inch of it seems to be piled with treasures. There’s even an entire side-chamber just for clothes, which Zul is not interested in, and another one for snacks, which Zul is very, _very_ interested in.

In addition to the now-empty platter of mango, there are bowls of spiced nuts, delicate flatbread pastries, and crunchy little saurid bones roasted in some kind of glaze. There are also some wilty-looking greens that look like they haven’t been touched at all. Zul helps himself to one of the bones, savoring the way it cracks between his teeth. Zul has always liked bones. They're easy to find if you know the right time of day to check the trash outside certain shops, and they're fun to chew.

Zul is starting to think this boy might not be so bad, for a rich-mon. He doesn't seem to mind Zul eating his food, or touching his things, and there are so many toys to choose from that it does not matter that he keeps trying to hog all the best ones for himself. Zul thinks he's just happy for the chance to show off.

Zul is fiddling intently with colorful puzzle cube, ignoring the boy’s increasingly loud attempts to tell him how to solve it, when a loud, sharp voice startles them both.

"Your highness!"

A tall woman in fancy armor stands in the doorway, hands on her hips. Zul freezes.

"How many times must I tell you not to bring the servant children into your room? They will steal anything that isn't nailed down." Quick as a striking raptor, she swoops in and seizes Zul by the back of his tunic before he can run away, ignoring his squawk of protest. It isn't _fair!_ Zul isn’t a servant, and he only _thought_ of stealing things - he didn't actually do it!

“But _Reh’tani-_ ”

“No buts! Your tutors have been tearing their hair out looking for you, Rastakhan. Must I put a leash on you to keep you from sneaking off?”

The stuffed raptor falls from Zul’s arms as he is lifted bodily into the air; it squeaks pitifully when it hits the ground. The guard - Reh’tani? - carries him briskly back out into the hallway, dumping him there like a troll emptying a chamber pot in a back alley.

Zul catches one last glimpse of the boy’s face, all red-cheeked and screwed up like he’s considering a tantrum, before the heavy golden door slams shut in his face.

  
...did she say _your highness?_


End file.
